Cure For The Itch
by Momma-Ran
Summary: Everyday Jack Merridew leaves Castle Rock alone except for his spear. Jack's solo adventures are usually classified as him going to hunt Ralph, the sole boy not under the Chief's control. But hunting Ralph isn't exactly what Jack has in mind.


Everyday Jack Merridew leaves Castle Rock alone except for his spear. As Chief he isn't required to account for his actions and never does with this one thing. Instead, Jack lets their imaginations run wild and the rumors float around. Jack's solo adventures are usually classified as him going to hunt Ralph, the sole boy not under the Chief's control. Though curious they know better than to ask him or follow him, especially after what happened to Robert.

Jack's blue eyes narrow with annoyance at the thought of losing one of the biguns because he found out about exactly what Jack is doing. Now he has no Roger, who burned to death in the fire, and no Robert, whom he killed to keep the truth a secret. The younguns think the beast got to Robert, but Jack knows that truth too. The biguns know better than to voice their opinions on what happened to Robert. For that matter they know not to voice their questions about why Jack has yet to kill the free boy; else wise they will face Jack's wrath.

Jack lifts a red painted hand. He can practically see the warm blood dripping off it but with the paint on Jack is confident in every decision…even the one he makes every day. It's been three years on this godforsaken island since his first kill, a boy whose name has become taboo. And it's been two years since he first realized how attracted he is to the free bigun. It's a need unlike any he's ever had and it's been plaguing him since…he met his prey. It took a long while for Jack to convince the free one to trust him enough for them to give in to the desires of biguns.

His toes dig into cool ash, cushioning his feet on an otherwise bare ground. Ever since the fire this has been considered the 'bad side' of the island, but truth be told there isn't a good side. Not that this is anything he will ever admit out loud, especially with his mask of red. The fire from then killed quite a few, Jack still isn't sure how many, but there aren't as many younguns and there is no Roger. It died out two days after it started and with the fire's death came the death of the hunt of Ralph.

Just thinking of the boy's name makes him increase his pace until Jack is running across the land, going deeper into the boy's territory. Jack leaps over small green that has grown from under the ash. All over there are green shoots popping up, signs of life in what was a desolate place. Eventually there will be forest once more but until then…

Until then he will go to Ralph's side of the island. Jack races time, because soon he will have to return and he wants to spend as much of his limited time with the free boy.

Something barrels into his side, knocking him off balance. He and the attacker roll down, sometime during their roll Jack looses his spear. It's instinct to wrestle the thing, to kill it, and he fights hard. An old chant comes into his mind, _Kill the pig! Cut his throat! Spill his blood! _A feral growl rips from his throat while they tumble. When the roll to a stop the attacker is on top.

Teeth bite into his shoulder and hands hold him down by the wrists. Familiar hips straddle his. Jack's anger turns to playfulness. Jack gives a throaty sound at the tongue which licks the abused skin. "Jack, you taste like —"

Jack shrugs. "I haven't gotten it off yet." He refers to the red paint that stripes his body. The attacker frowns, causing Jack to sigh. Ralph hates the taste of war paint, sweat, dirt, and blood. Jack doesn't really blame him. Ralph allows him to stand. They walk on in silence before long coming to a spring. This part of the island wasn't affected by the fire, so it's still full of life.

The water is cool, a nice contrast to Jack's warm skin. Ralph admires the chief's body silently and this time no explanation is needed. The boy with fair hair joins Jack in the water, coming up behind him to help wash the paint off. "Samneric do your paint this time?" even being Chief there are just some places Jack cant reach to get his own paint on, so he usually makes someone else do it. Samneric always wear green paint and Jack is sure that they smudged it on his red.

"Got green in it didn't they?"

"No. Just the design." Jack is almost sure that Ralph is lying to protect the twins from the beating they would surely get if they did smudge paint, but since he can't prove it he doesn't call Ralph out. A content sigh comes from him, relaxed at the other's gentle fingers on his back. "How is being chief?"

"You think I make a bad chief?" Both of them know this isn't what Ralph meant, but Jack feels the need to fight, to challenge. Old habits die hard. Ralph doesn't answer in favor of pressing his lips to a clean shoulder blade. Small touches like that make Jack wonder when he fell for Ralph, it may have been three years ago or it may have been yesterday, he just doesn't know.

"Simon."

The taboo word has Jack tensing. The name brings as strong a reaction as Ralph's does. That night is still vivid in his mind. Anger and guilt flare up inside him. He needs to change the subject and warn Ralph to shut up about it. "They think I've come out to kill you." Ralph plants another kiss on the other shoulder blade.

"They must be disappointed." The paint washed from his body, Jack turns to Ralph. He cups the other's cheek, idly wondering where he learned to do everything he does. Is it ingrained within the human mind of his? Its not love, but possessive greedy lust that Jack feels for Ralph. As Chief he can have anyone he wants, no one will dare deny him anything, but he doesn't want any of them. There is no appeal in them like there is in Ralph.

Ralph's brown eyes are warm, welcoming, and trusting. Yet a shadow lurks behind all of that, a constant reminder of everything that has happened. Jack sees this shadow everyday, marvels at how it's different than the one once in Roger's amber eyes. He doesn't tell Ralph that they aren't disappointed the boy is still alive, oh no, because his tribe isn't. Particularly not Samneric. A quiet sigh escapes him, blowing back the hair on Ralph's forehead. Somehow Ralph's tangle of fair hair got straightened out and is now kept clean. Other boys cut their hair, but Ralph allowed his to stay long. The auburn eyes look away from him to the ground. Beneath his hand the fair boy goes rigid. "Jack…"

Instinctively Jack tenses as well, looking around for signs of danger, something to kill if need be. There is nothing threatening, nothing that will compromise what they have here. Through narrowed blue eyes Jack scans the area but sees nothing. He listens but hears nothing. Finally Jack turns back to Ralph, whose eyes still aren't on him. "What is it?" A trembling pale hand points to something behind Jack lying on the beach. For a second Jack falters, his mind shutting down and a cold dread seeping over him like the green shadows of the palms. There, nestled between the skull like coconuts, lays a white conch.

As if it's something to fear Jack wraps his arms around Ralph, drawing the boy against him. Without the paint and the spear Jack feels like because of that object everything is slipping away. His hold on the other tightens. Ralph doesn't fight it. The boy slips his arms comfortingly around Jack. "You shouldn't have killed him." Its such a vague statement that Jack isn't sure at first who Ralph is speaking about. The conch…there is a lot revolving around the broken shell from the past. "We should have gotten off this island, Jack Merridew." The naval officer is the one Ralph speaks of today.

Jack fights to cool his temper; he doesn't want to leave on worse terms than usual. "What would have happened had we gone back, Ralph?" Jack wouldn't have given up his hunting. This group of boys would forever be his to command and no body dares to deny it. The only one here who hasn't won is the fair haired boy in his arms. Quietly Ralph plants a kiss on Jack's collarbone. Jack grew taller than Ralph and towers over all of the other boys. He doesn't mind; his height gives him more power over the others. And it's convenient for things like this.

"Who knows, Jack?" Ralph says quietly. "You never gave us a chance to find out." There is no malice in his voice, as there used to be. When Jack killed the naval officer, the boy with fair hair had been furious. They fought about it often but nothing ever really came out of it. What was done was done and nothing either of them did would ever change it.

Brown eyes look up at Jack so deep and haunted. "This is an island of death." There is nothing to say to that. Jack cannot disagree. Many have died on this island. So he returns his attention to what they were doing before.

The redhead lowers his face to kiss Ralph, pushing his tongue into the other's mouth when it opens. Ralph tastes wild and warm. Jack devours him. His hands run down scarred skin to rest on a slender waist. They press against each other, Ralph on tiptoe. Hands wander, caress while jagged nails dig deep into flesh. Jack holds Ralph to him while their bodies collide with bone-jarring force. Its over with full-body shivers and burning pain.

Jack pulls away from the free boy. He rolls his shoulder blades, feels warm blood dripping down his back. This is why they only, well, do what they did. There is no exploration. At least not with fingers that are more weapon than anything.

Auburn eyes are fixated on the Chief, their depths warm like honey. However, Ralph has an expression like a puppy that has been kicked. The free boy washes Jack's blood from beneath his fingernails. Ralph takes a few steps back then takes off at a sprint.

Jack watches him go, feeling his blood boiling and a sense of longing. He didn't miss the gashes from the small of Ralph's back to his hips. Turning, Jack walks back to the shore. On the way uphill he finds his spear. Bending down, Jack scoops up some mud and smears it around his body. Then he returns to Castle Rock.

No one asks where he's been. Jack goes straight to Samneric, their body covered in matching green paint. In a smooth movement, Jack slices open their chests with the sharp end of his spear. "Next time you better not get your green paint in with my red." Their blue eyes widen with surprise and pain. As he's walking away he sees the two of them look at each other. An entire conversation passed between them with that look. Jack has the feeling that Samneric won't be around for very much longer.


End file.
